Weird Luck
by Kimberly T
Summary: Meanwhile, Back in New York: Elisa investigates.  Matt agrees NOT to investigate.  And our visiting German gargoyle meets...well, this was inevitable, really! 40th in the Life Goes On series.  P.S. He's baaaack...
1. Confounded

_**LIFE GOES ON**_

**Meanwhile, Back in New York…**

**Part 8: Weird Luck**

By Kimberly T. (email; kimbertow at yahoo etc.)

Standard Disclaimers and acknowledgments apply; I'm not making a dime off this, so please don't sue.

(Author's note: This takes place nearly three weeks after the Manhattan Clan left for their 'vacation' in New Orleans; at roughly the same time as the final events of "Mating Games 9: Bad Moves". Many thanks to Tribun for providing German translations when asked!)

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_**8.1: Confounded**_

Heinrich the German gargoyle glided across 5th Avenue with a frown on his face. He'd been searching for the gargoyles that called this American city home, for nearly three weeks now. Nearly three weeks of cruising back and forth across this island of Manhattan, and he had yet to see a single wing or tail anywhere.

He'd found other evidence here and there that they existed; stone shards and gravel on a rooftop over here, where one of them had spent the day; distinctive talon marks on a wall over there, where one of them had climbed up to get height for gliding. But he still hadn't met any of the gargoyles themselves, and he was getting very worried.

The night before his ship had pulled into port, the Quarrymen had engaged in battle with a group of beings with wings and tails. Heinrich's friends in the local police force, officers James Carter and John Davis, had told him about that, and added that opinion had been divided on whether the other combatants had been gargoyles, or humans wearing gargoyle costumes; the Quarrymen swore they'd been real gargoyles, but scraps of costume had been found at the scene of battle.

Three days later, a body had been discovered on a rooftop; one of a human wearing a gargoyle costume. The damage done to the costume and to the man himself had matched what had been found at the scene of battle, and the common consensus now was that the Quarrymen had indeed fought humans in costume—criminals in costume, that is, since the dead man had been part of an organized crime ring—and no real gargoyles had been involved at all.

When Davis had told him the news that Friday night, Heinrich had been very glad indeed; he'd been seriously worried that he'd arrived in New York just one night too late, and the last of the local clan had fought the Quarrymen and died of their wounds afterwards. But if they hadn't been involved, then they were probably just very sensibly staying quiet and out of sight, just as Heinrich and his family had always done back in Dresden and Berlin. They were still out there somewhere, likely where a human wouldn't be able to find them, but hopefully a very determined fellow gargoyle would.

But where were they? It was now common knowledge that they had been living in that castle-in-the-sky, as guests of the billionaire David Xanatos, but weren't there any longer. Three hours after he'd met his new friends in the police force, Davis had returned to the clocktower to tell Heinrich about the news report he'd just seen on the television in the precinct below; an interview with the billionaire himself. _Herr_ Xanatos had admitted that the gargoyles had indeed been living in the castle, but they'd left it for good after the Quarrymen had started harassing the castle in their helicopters. He'd even let the news crew look through every part of the castle, but no sign of them had been found. And Xanatos firmly maintained that he had no idea where the gargoyles were living now; he hadn't asked, and they hadn't told. Though he had mentioned their fondness for sea air.

A fondness for sea air might mean that they had chosen a new home near the docks, but Heinrich had searched every mile of the island's coastline and still hadn't found them. He had indeed found evidence that they had been there; there were a few warehouse walls that had pockmarks from use by gargoyles for climbing. But he still hadn't seen any of the gargoyles themselves.

What was so frustrating was that while he'd been searching, other people had seen them! Every evening either Davis or Carter came up to share the most recent reports with him, and nearly every night someone somewhere in the city reported seeing gargoyles out perched on rooftops or gliding around, as bold as brass. After Davis had come up with a pair of walkie-talkies and given one of them to Heinrich, the gargoyle had taken to carrying it along in hopes that the officers would be able to call him and direct him to a reported sighting before they flew out of sight.

Only three nights after receiving the walkie-talkie, his friends had called him to let him know of a sighting in progress; a huge purple gargoyle and a slightly smaller blue-green gargoyle had been spotted gliding above 55th Street! Heinrich had been only three blocks away from that sighting, and had hurried over there, but by the time he'd arrived there had been no gargoyles in sight; the only thing that had looked even slightly out of place had been a dark blue van that had a peculiar-looking pair of antennas mounted atop it.

And two Tuesdays ago, he'd awoken to find Carter standing near him with a newspaper in hand; one of the articles in the newspaper was about the Quarrymen's latest loss. According to the Quarrymen's own Public Relations officer, the night before, two van teams of Quarrymen had reported finding evidence of recent gargoyle activity, and were going to set up an ambush. But they hadn't reported in since ten o'clock that night, and no one had seen the men themselves or their vans since then.

Heinrich knew the part of Manhattan the article mentioned; that area contained a warehouse with one wall in particular that had been covered with talon marks, a well-used trail leading up to its roof. He'd been by there just two nights before the Quarrymen had gone missing, and not seen anyone, but after hearing the news he hurried back… to find the marks on the wall had been covered over by two sheets of plywood nailed into place. He hadn't dared approach too closely to inspect the work that had been done, because two homeless people had been sitting on a blanket right across the street and in clear view of that wall, but he was positive that someone had covered their tracks.

In some ways that was a relief, because no one would have hidden those tracks if there had been no reason to hide them—no one trying to stay hidden. More evidence that the gargoyles were in hiding! But where were they hiding? Over the next few nights he'd stealthily broken into not only that warehouse but every building with a city block radius, but found nothing.

He worried and he fretted over not finding them, but he refused to give up hope. Somewhere in this city, there had to be more gargoyles…

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

Somewhere in this city, there had to be something that would take her mind off of gargoyles for a while.

Elisa Maza sat in her precinct staring into space, absently drumming her pencil against her desktop, wishing for a nice juicy, high-profile homicide. Okay, not really wishing for someone to get killed, but still wanting a distraction. She'd been back in Manhattan and away from her husband for less than a week, and already she was missing him terribly.

And she was wondering about the rest of the clan, too. In particular she was wondering and trying not to worry about how well Brooklyn's tail had healed, after he'd nearly gotten it severed by a gator bite. After calling New Orleans last night and finding out he'd been attacked by a gator and was in surgery, she'd called again two hours later to learn that he'd come through the surgery okay and was conscious, but they wouldn't know how well his tail had mended until after a day's stone sleep. She'd called again at sunset, but the clan's main line had been busy and Goliath hadn't answered the cell phone she'd left inside their cottage. It was still four hours before her regular 3:00 a.m. calling time, when Goliath would be waiting in the cottage for her call; she'd just have to wait until then to find out how Brooklyn was doing.

She reflexively glanced towards the broom closet, then closed her eyes and shook her head in disgust. Cripes, how sappy could she get? She'd just caught herself thinking about going up to the clocktower again, just for nostalgia's sake; to revisit where the clan used to live!

It was a bad idea, for a variety of reasons. And two of those reasons were sitting in the same room with her; the rookies Davis and Carter. A few nights ago in a particularly sentimental moment, she'd started heading for the broom closet, but just as she'd opened the door those two boys had jumped up and ran for her like eager puppies wanting to go walkies. They'd been all excited about her going up there, wanting to go with her "to look for clues about the gargoyles' diet and habits, and what their new habitat might resemble."

Instead of pulling down the access ladder, she'd lied; told them that she was only looking for a broom to sweep up some dust bunnies she'd noticed under her desk. And she'd pointed out that the 'crime scene' was now hopelessly contaminated, first by the exploding missile that had wrecked the place and then by the construction surveyors that had gone up to assess the damage and costs of repairs, before the union had gone on strike. She assured them that Matt Bluestone had gone up there personally after he'd been promoted to the head of the Gargoyles Task Force, and the precinct's top detective hadn't found anything worth noting, so what was the point of going up there again?

In truth, she just didn't want to go up there accompanied by anyone; particularly by two cops who clearly thought of the gargoyles as dangerous beasts, instead of people. If the sight of the ruins themselves didn't wreck her pleasant memories of how it had been when the clan had been there, their attitudes and remarks as they pored over the wrecked and abandoned furnishings surely would.

Her reverie was interrupted by Officer Wilson, who gave her a sympathetic grimace as he dropped a two-inch-high stack of papers on her desk. "More sightings," he said simply before walking away.

Elisa tried not to groan out loud. Xanatos' idea was really working too well…

The day after the clan had left for their 'vacation', Xanatos had outfitted a trio of vans in different colors with Xanatos Enterprises' most advanced hologram-generating equipment and projectors. And that night, while the clan had been sitting down to a feast in New Orleans, holograms of Goliath, Brooklyn, Hudson, Broadway and Angela in flight had begun appearing in the air over various Manhattan streets. The images for the holograms had been taken from security footage at the castle, from various times when the clan had been coming in or gliding away or just stretching their wings after dinner.

The whole idea was to make it appear that the clan was still in town, if not at the castle anymore. And it was working like a champ, as far as the Quarrymen were concerned. According to the mole Xanatos had planted in the organization (Elisa had no idea who he or she was, and wasn't going to ask), the Quarrymen had been going nuts driving all over town, chasing reports that citizens had called in to their new Q-hotline but arriving to find no gargoyles in the area.

The problem was that citizen weren't just calling the Quarrymen to report gargoyle sightings. The police were getting swamped with calls, some of them coming in from as far away as Queens. The 911 operators for NYC had all been instructed to route those calls to the 23rd Precinct, where the Gargoyles Task Force was headquartered. And they'd been getting so many, Captain Chavez had petitioned the bean-counters to hire another police secretary just for the GTF. And they'd probably get one, too… in another year or two. In the meantime, guess who had to do all the sorting and categorizing of the sightings?

Usually Elisa did her fair share, but this time she just divided the stack into two piles and split them up among the rookies. "Activity at time of sighting, area of city and number sighted," she said wearily, even though they surely knew the routine by heart; Matt had been giving them those same sorting criteria while she'd been "in quarantine," down in New Orleans. There were so many that sightings now that only the ones that reported real crimes being committed by gargoyles were actually investigated anymore—and so far, all the ones that had been genuine crimes had been committed by costume-wearing human criminals. Too bad Xanatos hadn't built some kind of auto-destruct device into those costumes, so they'd have all disintegrated or something right after Halloween.

Both rookies nodded and returned to their desks with the papers, but the top sheet was wafted off Carter's stack by a stray breeze and drifted to the floor. Elisa sighed and picked it up for him, automatically glancing it over before handing it back. Then she frowned, and took another look. A gray-and-red one again? That was the third time she'd read a reported sighting of a male gargoyle with gray skin and a red mane.

The first time she'd dismissed it as just another 'canary case'. Police occasionally got calls from people reporting crimes that hadn't really happened, sometimes even giving false confessions to crimes that had actually happened; saying anything that would get someone in authority to pay attention to them. Since gargoyles were in vogue lately, loads of 'canaries' had been singing about seeing gargoyles doing everything from gliding right through their open windows to battling hosts of angels in the night sky.

The first time she'd read a report about a gray male with a red mane gliding across 32nd Street, it had been right after reading a report about a trio of gargoyles perched on top of the Metropolitan Opera House, serenading passersby with passages from _Faust_. Compared to that, somebody just gliding along minding his own business was hardly worth noticing.

The second time she'd read that description, it had been right after reading a sighting about a brick-red gargoyle flying barrel rolls down 55th. Which had been a hologram of Brooklyn, taken from last Halloween night; the clan had been in pretty good spirits after a night of partying with the Xanatos family, and Elisa had heard that they'd challenged each other to stunt-gliding feats on the way back to the castle before dawn. (Lexington had won the competition with what Xanatos had described as a double Immelmann with an extra twist, but the footage of that one hadn't turned out well.) Elisa had assumed that call had been a case of somebody with poor night vision or color-blindness reporting another hologram.

But this third sighting… the caller had described a gray male gargoyle with a red mane coming in for a landing on the roof of a building across the street, then unslinging a satchel, eating a sandwich of some sort, and drinking from a water bottle before taking off again.

Holograms didn't eat or drink. The clones hadn't ventured outside the Labyrinth since the night of Brentwood's death. And canaries usually described their gargoyles a little more luridly, doing something more outrageous than just having a midnight snack.

Elisa called the rookies over to her desk. "New criteria, guys," she said crisply. "Go back through the last two weeks of sightings of solo gargoyles, and sort by _color_. And bring me every sighting of a gargoyle described as having gray skin and a red mane."

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_Oh, crud_, Officer James Carter thought to himself as he heard what Detective Maza wanted. Out of all the gargoyles that people were reporting, why'd she have to pick on poor Heinrich?

They'd already had one close call with the detective, when they'd thought she'd been about to go up to the clocktower. The rookies had done that themselves a few weeks ago; that was how they'd discovered Heinrich in the first place.

They had talked about such a possibility beforehand, and come up with a plan for if it happened; both rookies would go upstairs with whoever was investigating, making lots of noise all the way up, to give Heinrich plenty of time to clear out if he was up there at the time. And at the first sight of anything that might possibly be construed as a clue, James would call the senior officer's attention to it and insist on examining it carefully, while John hurried ahead and covered up any _real_ evidence that Heinrich might have accidentally left out, like his journal or photos from home or whatever.

Luckily, that time had been a false alarm; the detective had only been going for a broom, not for more clues about gargoyles. But now… something in that report she was holding had made her want to focus on gargoyles that had Heinrich's coloring. What was on that report, anyway?

It took a few moments of walking back to his desk, but James finally came up with an excuse to go back for a peek. He walked back and asked, "Um, pardon me, Detective, but I've run out of paper clips for the reports. Do you have any extra?" And while she rummaged in her desk, he leaned over and got a good look at the 'activity' section of the report.

Well, the good news was that it was just somebody eating a sandwich; no crime being committed. So whatever had gotten the detective so focused on gray gargoyles with red hair all of a sudden, it hadn't been some crook in a costume again. But they still had to make sure she didn't discover anything that might lead her to actually slapping cuffs on Heinrich, who wasn't here to hurt anyone; who would help the whole city by taking all the gargoyles back to Germany with him, if only he could actually catch up with them.

After getting paper clips from the detective, he went back to his desk, which was right next to John Davis's desk. And he whispered to his buddy, "We give her exactly one sighting each, okay? And as far from 'home plate' as possible. Then we shred the rest later."

"Let's make it two sightings each, but two out of four being something too freaky to believe," John whispered back. "I'm going to change the hair color on that 'gargoyle walking through walls' sighting from last Saturday."

"Yeah, that's even better!" James started searching through the stacks for another bizarre gargoyle sighting. What night had they gotten that one about a big black gargoyle sitting down to dinner in a private room at Tavern on the Green?

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_Next: Convergence_


	2. Convergence

_**8.2: Convergence**_

59th Street held the same distinct lack of gargoyles as all the other streets he'd checked out tonight. Heinrich sighed and decided it was time to stop and eat before proceeding further north. And maybe to do a bit more prowling near ground level, to check out the German deli below. He had provisions in his rucksack for tonight's search, but only another night's worth in the clocktower, and frankly he was sick of the boring bland taste of the American sausages they called 'hot dogs', even if Davis liked them. Being a German deli, hopefully they wouldn't mind being paid in Deutschmarks left on the counter for a few good stout sausages.

He found the alley behind the deli and started to spiral down to street level, but paused and pulled back up as he twisted to look at something he'd glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. Something in the air, approaching fast…

He heard the shot just a moment before he felt the blaze of _**pain**_ in his right wing, as a bullet tore through the membrane.

But he was well acquainted with pain, and he ignored it for the moment as he corrected and spun about to face his attackers head-on. Two humans on single-rider flying machines, both in dark blue: those Quarrymen he'd been warned about!

Reflecting bitterly that he'd known the gargoyle-hunters would catch up with him sooner or later—with his poor luck, how could they not?—he dove down into the alley below. Time for evasive maneuvers!

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

"Got him; I winged him for sure!" Morris shouted exultantly to his partner Caldwell. The two Quarrymen had been patrolling on their hovercycles for nearly a week, chasing reports of gargoyles just as their compatriots in the Quarryvans had been doing; it was about damn time that they finally got one!

And just one garg gliding alone, too; no having to choose between targets! After what had happened two weeks ago, the HV patrols were on strict orders to stay together instead of separating to chase after gargoyles that scattered. Since Morris had seen this one first and called dibs, Morris would be the one to actually shoot it down and confirm the kill, while Caldwell watched his back and made sure no other gargoyles—sneaky bastards that they were—came up from another direction and attacked them.

The gargoyle had gone down fast in that alley, but Morris knew better than to expect that one shot had been enough to kill it. It could be on the ground waiting for him, hoping to throw something into the hovercycles' fans like that blue gargoyle bitch had done to Redding last month, or on a fire escape preparing to pounce as he went down past it. He'd take a few more shots at it from on high and from behind as much cover as the edge of the building roof allowed, and wait until it stopped moving before going to collect his kill. He zoomed up to the edge of the roof, then reduced speed and moved forward inch by inch until he could see down into the alley.

No sign of the gargoyle at all, on the building fire escapes or on the alley floor. Where was it hiding? Had it broken a window and sneaked inside a building?

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

Two blocks away and moving as fast as he could, Heinrich decided to go at least two more blocks before rising above the buildings again. As soon as he'd gone down below roof level, he'd whipped sideways and out towards the street, only to corner as tightly as he could once out of the alley mouth. It was risky, cruising this low and close; right below the third-story windows on the buildings he passed. Twice he'd already had to dip just enough to go under flagpoles that had been mounted beside windows. But with enemies in the open air, dodging low and using the shadows of the buildings themselves seemed like the best bet. These were mostly office buildings instead of residences, so few lights were on anywhere, and there were plenty of shadows for him to glide through.

Had his hunters been wearing night-vision goggles? Heinrich tried to focus on that brief glimpse he'd gotten of the Quarrymen; better that than on the agony in his right wing. All the maneuvering he'd been doing had aggravated the wound left by the bullet ripping through; it was probably a ten-centimeter-wide tear by now. But he'd taken worse, and stayed aloft; even carried passengers over the Wall with tears in his wings. He could do it; he could evade pursuit and make it back to his temporary home… he could do it…

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

The Quarrymen weren't the only people with night-vision goggles. After Tony Dracon had been sent to Riker's by Maza and her pet gargoyles, one of his first orders to Glasses from behind bars had been to acquire enough goggles to outfit every man in the gang if necessary.

Dracon's men had learned pretty quickly that the night-vision goggles should only be worn by lookouts posted outside; anyone stupid enough to wear them while walking into a lit room would find himself blinded by the dazzle the goggles transmitted. And forget wearing them outside if a streetlamp nearby was lit, too. One semi-bright guy had just shot out the street lamps so they could watch for gargoyles, but they discovered quickly that doing so tended to bring the police around pretty fast, and one was as bad as the other. So they only brought the goggles along on a job if they were sure they'd be operating in the dark.

Such as cracking open a safe on the third floor of an office building, hours after the cleaning staff had gone home. Montoya, the gang's best safecracker, was working silently on the safe while Willis kept watch from out in the hall and Pearson kept watch out by the window. No lights were on in the office, not even a flashlight to guide Montoya's work; instead all three men wore night-vision goggles. Which is why Pearson was able to spot the gargoyle gliding past on the other side of the street.

"Hey, Montoya, what's the bounty on a gargoyle head now?"

"Quarter of a million, unless they raised it again last week. Why, you see one coming?" Montoya said with growing urgency as he put his tools down and turned around.

"Coming, and going. He's passing right on the other side of the street. Nice clear shot," Pearson said as he slid the window open.

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

"_**Graaaghh**_!" Heinrich couldn't help snarling as he was shot again, this time right in his side!

The pain was too great; he faltered and fell out of the sky, and only by grabbing a flagpole as he went past did he avoid splattering on the sidewalk below. His grip on the flagpole swung him around to smack into the side of the building, and he had just enough presence of mind despite the agony shooting through him, to dig his talons in and grip the brickwork, clinging there.

But while he was clinging there, he heard the unmistakable _spang!_ of a bullet whizzing scarcely an inch past his ear to hit the bricks, chipping off fragments that bounced off his cheek. Someone was still firing at him—from across the street!

He couldn't just stay there, a stationary target. He flung himself off the wall and twisted as he fell, getting his wings out and catching air, to glide away again. _Lieber Gott_, he hurt so bad, just breathing was painful! But he had to keep moving until he found cover…

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

Montoya and Willis were _**not**_ happy with Pearson, but only Montoya was able to express himself without cursing… much. "—do this job _**without **_attracting attention, you moron! Now the gargs know we're here! We'll probably have the whole fucking _flock_ coming down on us in a minute! Why don't we just leave you here for them to find?"

Pearson wasn't happy either. "Hey, I _**got**_ the beast, and my second shot would have gone right through its skull if you hadn't grabbed my hand! You just screwed us out of a quarter-million bonus!"

After a few more seconds of furious back-and-forth, it was decided that since Pearson had clearly wounded the gargoyle, it might not get very far away before going down. If they could find it and finish it off before it got back to the other gargoyles, they could salvage the night's work _and_ the bonus after all. Montoya went back to work on the safe, speeding up the process as fast as he dared, while Pearson and Willis went for the car.

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

Heinrich made it around the edge of the building and into the alley, then grabbed a wall again and hung there panting harshly. Out of sight of that shooter for the moment, but for how long? The alley was basically empty, nothing but a few garbage cans too small to hide in or behind. But if this latest hunter was ground-bound (he assumed and hoped, since he hadn't seen any other flying craft) then he'd be out of sight once he was up on the roof.

Laboriously, he climbed up the side of the building onto the roof. He'd managed to keep his rucksack the whole time, so once he was in a safe place he could start patching himself up with the first aid kit he always carried. He made it to the rooftop, groaning in pain but with an element of relief. He'd made it; he was—

"There it is!" _**kapow**_

He was still wings-deep in trouble! Those _verdammten_ Quarrymen had still been looking for him, and seen him! "_**Scheiss**_!" he groaned as he fell backwards off the edge of the roof he'd just climbed onto, just as another bullet whistled past his head. Then it was twist in mid-fall, unfurl, catch air and start gliding again, no matter how much it hurt.

There was only one way out of the alley; back out onto the street where the other shooter had been. He whipped out and back down the street as fast as he could, praying to get out of sight before he was noticed again.

For once, his luck seemed to be changing for the better; he made it the length of the block without being hit again. But over his own labored breathing and the sound of air past his ragged wings, he heard shouts behind him and the sound of a car starting. The shooter must have been inside a building, and been delayed by going down to ground level. Now they were in an automobile, and in his present state there was no way he could outfly an auto for long. Nor the Quarrymen's flying machines, and he glanced over his shoulder to see those two craft now following him down the street as well.

He needed cover, and he needed it fast. He remembered seeing something that _might_ work, not far from where he was; if only he could keep ahead of them and away from their bullets for another block or two…

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

All in all, it had been a good night so far for Vinnie; he was only a little annoyed at the prospect of having to piss in an alley.

Gavagan Jr.'s Bar was pretty cool, a great place for folks to go an unwind after a day at the office, and have an little birthday party for Vinnie's coworker and new buddy Scott Figueroa. Most bars were pretty dull on Thursday nights, saving the good entertainment for the weekends, but Gavagan Jr.'s had a live band every night and tonight's group had been pretty good! They had taken requests for everything from Simon & Garfunkel classics to the latest from Hootie & the Blowfish, and done a decent cover for just about all of them. 'Course their _own_ music and lyrics kinda sucked, but hell, after a few more beers maybe Vinnie could learn to like that too.

But first he had to take care of the beers he'd already downed over the course of the evening. And by the time his bladder had informed his pleasantly buzzed brain that it really couldn't wait much longer, the bar's sole bathroom was occupied by one of the lady coworkers who'd come to the party. And experience had taught Vinnie that there was just no use in waiting for a woman to come out of the bathroom; those gals sometimes took hours in there. But the bar was right next to an alley that had a nice big dumpster in it; big enough to offer cover while a gent took care of business. It was biting cold outside, but he didn't plan be exposed to the cold for long.

He walked outside, whistling, and took a few quick glances around to make sure the alley wasn't occupied by any homeless or hoodies who might object to his actions. Nope, no one around. The dumpster lid had been left wide open and reeked of garbage—fhew, what a stench! But he wouldn't be out here long so it didn't really matter, and besides, now nobody would care about a little more stench.

He stepped behind the dumpster, unzipped, and

WHUMPHHH!

_**CLONNNGG!!!**_

No man ever jumped higher. Or stuffed back in and zipped up faster, leaving a fast-rising pattern on the alley wall.

After a few seconds of just making sure his heart was going to stay inside his chest, he figured out what had happened. Something had fallen or dropped into the dumpster, hard enough to jar it and knock the steel lid down to close it.

Okay, whatever it was, it was inside steel walls now. While Vinnie was outside those nice thick steel walls, and soon to be far away from whatever it was. So, nothing to worry about. Right? He'd just walk calmly but really fast back inside the bar, and—

_**WHROOOO**_ from overhead, as well as someone shouting "Hey, you! You seen a gargoyle fly this way?"

Vinnie looked up and just gaped for a few seconds at the two hovercycles above him, the blast from their hoverfans mussing his hair, and with riders clad in dark blue from head to toe staring down at him. Then he said "Holy crap, is _**that **_what that thing was? It buzzed right over me a few seconds ago—and it went that way!" as he pointed at the other end of the alley, where it opened onto the next street.

The two Quarrymen shouted thanks as they buzzed on down the alley. They paused at the end, looking both ways, then both roared off to the right. Vinnie figured that they'd been hired on _after_ he'd been fired (and nearly killed) by Mr. Castaway for his 'traitorous' good deed, when he'd saved Goliath and the lady with him a few months back. Well, nice to know that his face wasn't really on a 'Wanted' poster in the Quarrymen headquarters after all…

Then a black four-door Chevy sedan made a tight left turn into the alley with two men in it, both waving guns. Vinnie didn't say a word, just stepped back and pointed down the alley, and they roared right past him.

After another minute or two, when no one else appeared, Vinnie knocked on the side of the dumpster and whispered loudly, "Okay, that was two Quarrymen in the air, and two other guys in a car. Anyone _else_ chasing you?"

While waiting for an answer, he wondered just what the hell was up with the universe, that it just kept throwing gargoyles at him.

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_Next: Cleanup_


	3. Cleanup

_**8.3: Cleanup**_

An hour and a good-sized favor from his cousin Phil later, Vinnie had the gargoyle Heinrich back at his place. Phil hadn't been at all happy about climbing out of bed to go get Vinnie from the bar; most folks just called a cab, or rode the bus back home if they'd been drinking. But there probably wasn't a bus driver or cabbie in New York who'd accept a gargoyle bleeding all over the seats, whereas Phil had a pickup truck and a tarpaulin that could be draped over cargo in the back. Vinnie had to hand over the tickets he'd won to the next Giants game before Phil had agreed to back into the alley, take on cargo without looking at it and drive over to Vinnie's place.

Those had been _primo_ tickets, too, Vinnie thought mournfully; two seats just four rows up from the Giants' bench, and all they'd cost him had been a $2 raffle ticket at work. "You'd better appreciate what I'm doing for you," he grouched at the gargoyle as he helped it, still covered in the tarp, up the steps to his apartment building. "And you'd better not just die on me after all this, either!"

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

Heinrich would have replied to his newfound friend's grumblings, but it was all he could do to keep picking his feet up and moving forward, going up the steps he glimpsed under the edge of the tarpaulin. He hurt so badly, from the bullet wounds and from the many cuts he'd received when diving into that dumpster; at least one of the bags of garbage he'd fallen on had been filled with bottles, and a few shards from broken bottles had poked through the bag and right into him.

After another eternity of painfully climbing up stairs—taking the last two flights of stairs on all fours; he was just too weak to stand up anymore—Vinnie opened a door and ushered him into an apartment. "Okay, listen, just lie here on the tarp for a little while, okay?" Vinnie said as he whisked the tarp off him and spread it over the living room carpet. "I gotta get some towels and mop up all the blood you dripped on the way up here, before somebody notices."

Heinrich was only too happy to comply, and just collapsed on the tarp and let darkness overtake him once more.

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

"The super's gonna have my ass for breakfast if he finds out," Vinnie grumbled as he scrubbed with a damp towel at some of the bloodstains on the stairs. Even if gargoyles weren't still regarded as monsters by most folks, the building he lived in had a strict _No Pets_ policy.

But he finally got all the blood spots mopped up clear down to the foyer, at least clean enough that no one would notice them amidst all the older stains left by other residents. And for once old Mrs. Peabody didn't come poking her nose out of her door, wondering what 'those young whippersnappers' were up to now, like she had every night since he'd moved into the building ten days ago.

Once he was done, he hurried back up the stairs, thinking that it was a good thing his roommate Leon was in Boston for the work week on some business training deal, and not expected back until Friday night. They might be second cousins on his mom's side and seen each other a few times a year at family gatherings, close enough ties for Leon to give him first dibs on the other bedroom in the apartment when his old roomie got married, but that didn't mean they knew each other well. Vinnie hadn't really discussed the whole gargoyles thing with Leon yet, and didn't know if he was one of the folks who considered them monsters. And even if he didn't think they were monsters, his neatnik cousin would surely object to having one of them bleed all over his nice clean living room.

When he opened the door, Heinrich was still just lying there without moving, and Vinnie got really worried before noticing that his chest was still rising and falling; he was still breathing, at least. Vinnie went into the bathroom and rummaged around in the medicine cabinet for more first aid supplies.

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

Fresh stinging pain woke Heinrich once more, and he groan-snarled as he forced his eyelids open.

"Hey, just chill, dude; I know rubbing alcohol stings like a bitch, but we gotta clean out the rest of these cuts before they get infected, you know?" Vinnie said after quickly scrambling back out of reach, with a bottle of rubbing alcohol in one hand and a cotton swab in the other.

"_Ja_… yes. Thank you," Heinrich groaned before lying back and letting Vinnie work on him. While waiting for Vinnie's cousin to show up in the alley, they had treated the worst of the wounds with supplies from Heinrich's small medical kit, but had run out of disinfectant and bandages before they'd gotten more than half of them treated.

Vinnie finished cleaning and bandaging the last of the cuts on Heinrich's face, torso, arms and legs. Then, at Heinrich's request, he rummaged around until he found a roll of masking tape. "You sure about this?" he asked worriedly before applying the tape to Heinrich's outstretched wing, over the gaping wound that had been cleaned out but left unbandaged.

"Yes. Must either sew together or tape together before sunrise, or hole will always be there," Heinrich said hoarsely. He had too many holes in his wings already, from injuries that had occurred before he'd started carrying a medical kit with surgical tape on every mission over the Wall.

"And I can't even sew buttons back on my shirts, so tape it is," Vinnie agreed before using the tape to carefully pull together the edges of the scabbed-over wound. Heinrich painfully lifted the wing just enough that Vinnie could lie flat on his back next to him and apply a layer of tape to the other side too.

When Vinnie was done, he pulled up a chair and sat down in it hard. "Well, that's it, dude; that's all I can do for you. Except maybe get you some food; think you can eat anything? Wait a second; _should_ you eat anything, with that bullet still in your guts? They really didn't cover this sitch back in the Boy Scouts," Vinnie lamented.

"I need water… perhaps juice?" Heinrich suggested painfully. "Sweet juice, has sugar for… for… _neue Kraft_?" English was just too new to him; he couldn't remember what the word or phrase was.

"For energy," Vinnie said with a nod. "I got some apple juice in the fridge; be right back."

Vinnie got up from the chair, while Heinrich closed his eyes but refused to let himself go unconscious again. There were still hours to go until sunrise; hours that he didn't want to miss, for fear that they would indeed be his last. That bullet was lodged deep in his guts, too deep for him to try to dig out himself even if he wasn't so weak from blood loss. The pressure bandage that he'd told Vinnie to tape over the wound and around his waist kept him from bleeding out, but if the internal bleeding continued… would he even make it to sunrise? _Lieber Gott_, to die now, without ever seeing his family again, or finding the other gargoyles for them….

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

A cup with a straw; that's what invalids in the hospital used. But where could he find a straw? He didn't have any—hey, that'd work! Vinnie rummaged in the garbage until he found the fast food bag from Tuesday's trip to McD's, then carefully rinsed out the soda cup and straw before filling it with apple juice and taking it back out to where Heinrich lay.

The dude was in bad shape; worse than that pair of Mexican gargoyles that the Quarrymen had shot up and beaten half to death a few weeks ago. But they'd made it to sunrise, and the night afterwards they'd been just fine and dandy, so Vinnie figured that if this guy made it to sunrise, he'd be okay too. He was glad now that he'd watched what Hiroshi Fukuda had done when treating their injuries, even if at the time he'd wanted to lose his lunch. Gargoyles sure did get hurt a lot…

He took a cushion from the sofa and slid it under Heinrich's head and shoulders so the gargoyle could sit up just a little, enough to drink from the straw. After Heinrich had drunk the juice, he asked, "So where you from, anyway? Germany? The last batch came from Mexico."

" 'batch'?" Heinrich repeated with his eyes closed.

"The last batch of gargoyles to blow into town. Though actually Yama might have arrived after they did; he flew in from Japan."

Heinrich's eyes flew open again. "_Huah_?!?"

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

More gargoyles, from other countries? Here in New York? And this human here had _met_ them all?! It was too much too believe!

For the first time in his entire life, Heinrich was glad that he'd been wounded. Because otherwise he might never have met Vinnie, and learned that he and his family were truly not alone; their kind was rare indeed, but they existed in several parts of the world!

He was glad right up until Vinnie told him that the Japanese gargoyle had taken the Mexican gargoyles, and an American gargoyle, back to Japan with him. Heinrich moaned and closed his eyes again. Even if he survived the night… how was he going to get to Japan? A full continent _and_ another ocean away!

"Maybe I can get word to them, and then Ms. Destine can send a plane for you," Vinnie mused. "The problem is, mail-room guys aren't given CEO's phone numbers, and I just can't leave a note for her about gargoyles with her secretary. Hmm... Maybe if I get to know the secretary pretty well, I can wheedle Ms Destine's number out of her, or find it in her desk or something. Candice is pretty cute, and I'd been kinda thinking about asking her out; this is just more incentive!" as he grinned.

Heinrich very sincerely wished him well in his pursuit, then asked for a pen and paper. Vinnie found some, and with shaking hands he carefully wrote down the phone number and the street address for Karl and Andrea, back in Berlin. "If I do not survive this… please, call these people. Or write to them. Karl and Andrea do not speak English, but if they hear 'Heinrich' or see my name on the paper, they will record everything and translate it later. Tell them everything you told me… and that I am glad I was able to at least meet you and learn of the others before the end."

"Aw, come on, dude; don't talk like that. You'll make it; that Malaquita gal was hurt almost as bad as you, and she was just fine the next night. You'll make it…!"

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_**Next: Case Closed**_


	4. Case Closed

_**8.4: Case Closed**_

Matt Bluestone walked back to his car, stifling a yawn; he really needed more sleep than he'd gotten that day. But the pleasant afternoon he'd enjoyed had been worth losing a few hours of sleep.

One of the former Labyrinth residents had given Anne Marsden two tickets to see him in his first stage performance, an off-Broadway musical number, and Fox had urged her to go, even offering to watch Bethany and Alex for a few hours. So last Sunday when Anne had asked shyly if he'd like to attend the matinee performance with her, Matt had figured it would be worth losing a few hours of sleep to catch a free show. Which is all it had been, getting to watch a musical performance for free; they'd both agreed on that it had definitely not been a date, because they weren't dating. Nope, hadn't been a date, even if he'd put on aftershave and spent ten minutes deciding what to wear.

Ramone Davocchio the former Labyrinth resident had a good singing voice and was an okay actor, but the musical itself had been so-so at best. But it had been good enough to attend with Anne, and afterwards he'd treated her to dinner before driving her back to the Aerie building. But it still hadn't been a date; he'd gotten her dinner because he'd been hungry, and what kind of heel would eat in front of a lady without getting something for her too?

And of course he'd had to come up with her to the castle, to see Bethany and give the little girl another piggyback ride, because the poor kid would have been so disappointed if he hadn't; she hardly had anyone to play with and pay attention to her since the gargoyles had left for New Orleans. Nope, he hadn't done more than any decent guy would do. And he hadn't been at all disappointed that Bethany hadn't slipped up and referred to him as 'Daddy' again. Really, he'd hardly noticed that she hadn't said it.

But with one thing and another, before he'd realized it the clock had been saying it was time to go to work again. No time left for a pre-work nap after all, but he hadn't really minded much.

Earlier that night, a Tribeca resident had screamed into the phone about a flock of miniature gargoyles that had taken over his attic, and had been overheard plotting to kill him and his family in their sleep. Since death threats were a serious matter, rather than just making note of the call and categorizing it with the dozens of others they'd gotten that night, the GTF had sent someone out to investigate; rather than send one of the rookies, Matt had gone himself, figuring a ride in the cold night air would help him stay awake.

The 'miniature gargoyles' had been common brown bats, to Matt's utter lack of surprise. It was a source of mild amusement to many night shift workers that most people in New York had no idea how much wildlife had taken up residence within the city limits; more people were prepared to believe in alligators in the sewers than in bats in their attics.

Matt had given the embarrassed resident the brand name for an ultrasonic pest control device that would drive the bats out, since it was a fact that bats could be dangerous; not because they were blood-suckers—brown bats were actually insectivores, and did the city a favor by keeping the insect population down—but because they were one of the more common carriers of rabies. Due to their habit of roosting close together in large flocks, one sick bat could infect hundreds of others before dying of the disease.

Walking back to his car, Matt paused as he noticed the slip of paper tucked under his windshield wiper. He turned it over, and read: _Get food at McD's on 44__th_.

Matt scowled. Oh, great; another Illuminati meeting. Must be somebody pretty low on the totem pole; usually they ordered him to meet for dinner in some fancy restaurant. Matt had grown to hate those meals; there was nothing like being told "do this for us, and don't ask why" to ruin a perfectly good steak dinner. And sometimes they even stuck him with the check!

His good mood ruined, he went to the fast-food joint as ordered, got himself a burger and fries and bit into it viciously. Whoever was expecting him there had better show up before he was finished, and they'd damn well better order and pay for their own food!

A tall red-headed woman got up from the table where she was sitting and came over to him, drink in hand. "Hi! Mind if I join you?" She looked vaguely familiar; Matt wordlessly shrugged and gave a 'help yourself' gesture towards the seat, and she sat down in it. She took a sip of her soda, then said quietly, "So, I understand you've been poking into a couple of cold cases; the murders of two people back in 1989. The assistant DA Catherine Chandler, and the millionaire John Gabriel."

Dammit, not again! Matt wished now he hadn't recognized Catherine Chandler in that chance meeting, in a grocery store two weeks ago. He scowled at the woman and hissed, "Look, I told Martin Hacker this already; I thought I had a lead on Ms. Chandler's kidnapper, one who could have killed Gabriel too, but it turned out to be a big fat lie. It's a dead end, and it can stay dead as far as I'm concerned; I've got bigger problems now. The whole gargoyles situation, for one."

"I see." The woman sipped her soda. "So, confidentially speaking, what's your personal opinion of Martin Hacker?"

"First-class lying S.O.B., and I'd say worse than that if there weren't women and children present," Mat shot back. "It's no secret that I'm not too happy about him keeping me in the dark and jerking me around for all those years."

"Mm, yeah, that does tend to get people upset," the woman said noncommittally. "Since we're here together and just for the sake of conversation, what was that false lead you mentioned?"

So Matt told her the same lie he'd told Martin ten days before: "It came up in a gargoyles case I was investigating; a homeless man said the gargoyles had been around in the city for decades, and he'd personally seen a huge black gargoyle swoop down and kidnap Ms. Chandler from right off the street. He said she'd drawn her gun on the gargoyle and fired a shot, but the gargoyle had just laughed and snatched the gun away from her, and thanked her for the new toy before carrying her off into the night. John Gabriel was killed in his penthouse with Ms. Chandler's gun, and no one ever figured out how the killer had gotten up there. But if someone had flown in through a window… So I looked into it, but it turned out that the man was lying though his teeth; he'd been in Bellevue from spring of 1988 to the summer of 1990, so no way he could've witnessed anything."

Of course, when telling that story to Martin he'd embroidered on it a bit; said that he'd thought it was plausible because he just knew in his guts that Martin had known about the gargoyles for years too. Knew about their existence and never said anything to him about them either, because they were all part of the Illuminati's Master Plan for God-knows-what.

It had been good to have another excuse to vent on his ex-partner, the two-faced bastard who'd gotten him kicked out of the FBI when he'd gotten too close to the truth about the Illuminati. He'd been secretly pleased to get Martin on the defensive, swearing that he'd really had no idea about the gargoyles until a few months after Xanatos had broken the spell on them; on the defensive, instead of poking holes in the story Matt had been spinning.

"Interesting," was all the woman said in reply to the whopper. Then after a few more sips of her soda, she said quietly, "She recognized you too."

It took a second for the meaning to sink in. "She…" Matt stared at the woman, and finally he realized where he'd seen her before. Not at an Illuminati function, but in a photo hanging on the wall of the 55th precinct, one of the places he'd visited while investigating, before dropping the whole affair after Martin Hacker had come snooping too.

"Detective Diana Maxwell." The most celebrated detective of that precinct, regarded as almost spooky by her coworkers for the way she could dissect a crime scene and profile the perpetrator from just a few shreds of evidence. Back when she'd been Diana Bennett, she'd been the detective assigned to Ms. Chandler's 'murder' investigation.

Detective Maxwell nodded, then said with a wry smile, "Sorry I missed you when you came by, but one doesn't keep an Italian mother-in-law waiting on an anniversary dinner."

Matt waved that away impatiently as he asked, "So you've seen her recently?"

"Yes… and that's all you can know. She's safe where she is, but I suspect this Martin Hacker you mentioned is one of the people still very interested in finding her, and ruining her safe place. And I'm not going to let that happen," she said with determination as cold and hard as steel.

Matt nodded slowly. "You're right, he is. That's why I stopped investigating, and burned all the notes I'd been taking. But please, just give me a yes or no answer to one more question, okay? The docs said that just before her 'death', Ms. Chandler gave birth. Was the baby ever found alive, and is it with her now? Okay, that's two questions, but please, can you tell me?"

After a brief pause, she nodded. "Yes, to both. His father found him and rescued him, not long before he rescued her. And no, no questions are allowed about the father. At all."

It was more than he'd ever expected to know, anyway. Matt nodded and agreed, "Case closed."

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_**Next: Counting the Hours**_


	5. Counting the Hours

_**8.5: Counting the Hours**_

Vinnie tossed and turned on his bed, unable to sleep. It had been over an hour since he'd apologetically told Heinrich that he had to get some shut-eye, before going to work the next day. Problem was, he just couldn't get to sleep; how could anyone sleep, knowing there was a guy hurt bad and possibly dying in his living room?

A year ago—hell, two months ago—he probably could have done it. Used to be he'd lain awake wondering how to get his own back at the damn gargoyles that had cost him a motorcycle, two jobs and credibility with his buddies, but never for very long; just a few minutes of gonna-get-those-critters-and-show-em-not-to-mess-with-a-Gregarino, and then it was off to sleep. A guy who regularly worked all night learned to get to sleep fast no matter how bright the day or how distracted he was, or he just didn't last on the night shift.

After he'd saved up enough money to have 'Mr. Carter' made and finally gotten his own back by humiliating a gargoyle, blasting a big purple one with a cream pie, he'd slept like a baby. Mission accomplished, he'd gotten his pride back. And after saving that same gargoyle and a human lady from the Quarrymen, he'd slept the sleep of the just. Yeah, he'd been a hero! Even if most of his buddies _still_ hadn't believed him.

Going to Japan had kinda screwed up his internal alarm clock, seeing as how night over here was day over there and vice versa, but he'd adjusted after a couple days. He hadn't had any problem at all sleeping during the day there while spending nights helping teach Yama English.

But back then, even while he was helping teach a gargoyle English and planning how to get more of them from America to Japan, he hadn't really cared that much beyond just getting home to New York. Okay, so gargoyles were intelligent critters; he'd known that from the first time that little green one had spoken to him, before taking and wrecking his bike. Okay, so they could live side-by-side with humans in peace; he'd kinda figured that out already from the way that lady had been defending Goliath. He'd saved her and him not because he'd particularly cared about gargoyles, but because it had been the right thing to do; like stopping someone from killing a stray dog that hadn't hurt anybody.

But then, after he'd come back to the States, he'd met the Mexican gargoyles… and their little girl. Galena, who had been crying her eyes out for her mommy and daddy when he'd first laid eyes on her. Galena, who had gray skin and wings and a tail but otherwise was a helluva lot like Vinnie's cousin Amy. He'd known the second he'd seen her that Galena wasn't a little critter… she was a little girl. A little girl that the Quarrymen had tried to kill--to _murder_--and that's when Vinnie had finally started caring.

Now, he thought of the gargoyles as people; pretty weird people, but people all the same. And while it was one thing to read in the paper or hear the TV news about people fighting and dying in some place far away, it was a whole 'nother thing when somebody dropped right down in front of you and needed your help, bad.

He finally gave up trying to sleep, punched his pillow one last time and rolled out of bed. Clad in pajama bottoms, he went back out to where he'd left Heinrich in the living room. Before going to bed he'd given Heinrich the TV remote just so he'd have something to watch, and the gargoyle had promised to keep the volume low.

This early in the morning all that was on were reruns of old TV shows and older movies. Heinrich had turned the channel to an old Three Stooges movie, and Vinnie smiled and nodded to himself; now _**that**_ was the good stuff, humor that just jumped right over any language barriers. But when he looked at Heinrich, he lost his smile in a hurry. The gargoyle's eyes were closed, and he was lying so still…

But he was still breathing. And a moment later his eyelids fluttered back open again. He tried to say something, but all that came out at first was a groan.

"Hey, sorry if I woke you, dude," Vinnie said apologetically. "Um… you need anything?"

Heinrich gave a wry smile as he rasped, "Better luck. Or new insides."

Vinnie's smile was equally wry. "Sorry, can't just get new intestines and stuff for you from the meat counter at the deli. And trust me, you wouldn't want to trade for _**my**_ luck."

"You get… shot, too?" Heinrich wanted to know.

"Well, no, not _shot_ at… but the last two years have been more weird for me than just about anyone else in New York. It's a long story…"

But since Heinrich seemed willing to listen—not that there was much else to do, besides lie there and watch TV or sleep, and Heinrich didn't want to do that—Vinnie sat down and proceeded to tell it. Every encounter with the gargoyles over the last few years, from the night his motorcycle had been trashed, up to the night he'd finally gotten his revenge. When Heinrich stared at him in raw disbelief, he hauled out of the closet and unwrapped 'Mr. Carter', to show Heinrich what he'd shot Goliath with… and Heinrich started to laugh, but had to stop when it hurt his guts. Lying back on the tarp and sofa cushion, he still had a twinkle of humor in his eye as he said, "You watch… Three Stooges too much."

"…Maybe," Vinnie allowed. He resolutely did not look at the closed video cabinet next to the TV, which held tapes of every Stooges movie or short feature ever made. "But hey, it worked. The big guy—I didn't know his name was Goliath back then—didn't do nothing but stare at me, he was so shocked, while the older gargoyle with him—never did learn that one's name—started laughing. Lemme tell you, that felt _**sweet**_, to have someone else get laughed at. Anyway, after that I didn't see or get bothered by any gargoyles for about three months. Then the clocktower got blown up, the local clan was caught on video, and the Quarrymen got started…"

And Vinnie told how he'd saved Goliath and his human friend from being killed, just before leaving for a job offer in Japan. And how he'd ended up jobless but not-broke-yet in Ishimura, after getting lost while on his way to a big sumo tournament in another Japanese city.

Heinrich wanted to know a lot more about Ishimura; how the gargoyles made a living and/or got enough to eat, how many kids they had, etc. Vinnie told him what he could remember about seeing gargoyles in fishing boats and embroidering kimonos, and apologized for not paying better attention at the time. He couldn't say much at all about the hatchlings, whom he'd never even glimpsed; they'd been kept in the rookery when he'd been out and about. "Guess they're _really_ protective of their kids when it comes to strangers… but all things considered, that's probably a good idea."

Heinrich nodded and volunteered, "Helga, she never lets little Gregor out of her sight. If someone comes to house at night, she nearly sits on him to be sure he makes no noise. …Tell me more about Ishimura…"

Another hour passed in conversation, until Vinnie caught himself yawning nearly every other minute. Heinrich finally told him to get some sleep; the TV would keep the gargoyle company. Vinnie thought briefly about protesting, but Heinrich was right; the mail room supervisor just wouldn't understand if he called in sick because he'd stayed up all night with a gargoyle. Besides, he hadn't been working at Nightstone long enough to get any sick days.

He refilled Heinrich's cup with apple juice and set the aspirin bottle down next to him, then staggered back to bed. His last thought before he hit the pillow was another fervent hope that he'd wake up with a nice stone statue in the living room, instead of a winged corpse.

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

After Vinnie went back to bed, Heinrich glanced at the walkie-talkie that had been pulled out of the rucksack and set up next to him. He'd had the radio on continuously since leaving the clocktower hours ago, hoping at first that his friends on the police force would call with news of a gargoyle sighting in progress… then just hoping that they would call so he could tell them about his being shot. But they kept their half of the two-way radio set off and hidden somewhere whenever they weren't using it to call him; they worried that someone in the precinct would overhear Heinrich and start asking questions.

He wasn't about to call his family in Berlin, though Vinnie had offered him the phone more than once over the last few hours. They had said their goodbyes before he'd left, knowing full well that he might not ever return. While they'd surely received the first of his many letters by now, they knew he wouldn't call until he had good news, the best of all news: that he'd made friends with an American family of gargoyles. To call them when he was gravely injured and unsure of surviving till dawn, when they could do nothing except agonize with him… that would be cruel. If he lived, he would call them once he found the gargoyles that still lived in the city, and if he did not, Vinnie had promised to call or write to them; that was that.

He'd also given instructions to Carter and Davis; if the clocktower was left vacant for more than four nights in a row, they were to consider him dead, pack up his personal effects and mail them back to Berlin. The family would want the photo album back, and perhaps the new stories he'd written would give little Gregor some comfort after learning that his uncle wouldn't be reading the old ones to him anymore.

He'd explained all that to his new human friends… but he wasn't sure they'd really understood. Which was to be expected, perhaps; they were both young. They had never survived a war, been gravely wounded or even outlived a close relative yet; from what they'd told him of their police careers so far, they had yet to even encounter dead humans while on patrol. Death did not yet have the meaning for them that it did for Heinrich, who knew all too well that he would die one night, and that it was good to plan ahead for the sake of loved ones. If he didn't come back but they simply lived in denial, telling themselves that he was still out there somewhere and would show up again someday…

Well, there was no use fretting. So far he'd survived over four hours after being shot in the guts; sunrise and healing were only a few more hours away. Perhaps he would make it after all…

And if not, perhaps one day Vinnie would think to deliver the radio back to the precinct. Then they would know for sure.

Just a few more hours… he was too weak to even think of sitting up and every breath was filled with pain, but perhaps he would make it…

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_**CRASSHHH!!!**_

And there were papers and folders flying everywhere. Didn't it just figure? Vinnie grouched about the Gregarino luck striking again, as he spent the next ten minutes gathering all the papers up and trying to put them back in order, before just tossing everything back into the mail cart that had overturned and taking it back to the mail room for sorting again.

His supervisor was not too happy with him. "You come in nearly ten minutes late, and this is the second mess you've made today… And Scott calls in sick when I _know_ he's just hung over! Do you two plan to make a habit of partying in the middle of the work week?"

"No, sir," Vinnie mumbled. He wanted to protest that he wasn't hung over, just dog-tired from staying up most of the night with a sick buddy, but he didn't see what good it would do. The supervisor was probably still pissed that he hadn't been invited to the birthday party too. Especially since by all reports the party had gotten even wilder after he'd left, once Cindy from Accounting had downed her third margarita…

The coffee in the break room was low-grade stuff, but it was free and it had the caffeine he needed. He poured himself a cupful whenever he had the chance and kept slogging on though the workday. It was almost eleven o'clock now; just six more hours to go…

Four more hours to go…

Two more hours to go…

5 o'clock, Quitting Time! Vinnie punched out and headed for the door, hoping to make it back to the apartment before sunset, and before Leon got home. It shouldn't be a problem beating Leon home; his cousin-roommate would probably head right for the apartment after his train got in, but Vinnie was pretty sure he'd said he'd be on the 7 o'clock from Boston, which meant he had almost two hours after getting home to hustle Heinrich out the window before Leon came in the door. But getting home before sunset was another matter; days were pretty short now that it was mid-December, and the sun was already low in the sky.

The sun was just setting as he got home, and he ran up the stairs to his apartment as fast as he could, hoping he could get inside, turn on the TV and crank it up to full volume before Heinrich woke up. Why hadn't he thought of doing that before he left for work? Because one thing he'd learned while in Ishimura was that gargoyles woke up LOUD. All he needed was for the Crabtree family next door to come knocking, curious about the noise…

He'd just reached his floor when he heard a faint crashing sound, like someone had just broken a statue inside one of the apartments, but he didn't hear any roaring. Panting, he skidded to a stop in front of his door and fumbled with his keys. He finally got the door open and went inside, to find Heinrich slowly getting to his feet, while stripping all the bandages that had been put on him the night before. "Hey, dude! How ya feeling?"

"Much better!" Heinrich said happily as he peeled a bandage off his forearm and showed Vinnie that it had healed without scarring. Then he gave a small wince, and put a hand to his side. "Bullet is still there… but I think no more bleeding around it. Ach, I get used to it soon."

"Glad to hear it. Hey, you hungry?" But before Heinrich could say anything, his stomach gurgled loud enough for Vinnie to hear from across the room. Heinrich looked embarrassed, while Vinnie grinned. "I ain't much of a cook, but one thing my mom made sure to teach me is how to make spaghetti. Ever had that before?"

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

_**Next: Contrasting Views**_


	6. Contrasting Views

_**8.6: Contrasting Views**_

Vinnie started fixing dinner for himself and Heinrich, setting a big pot of water on to boil and grabbing a whole box of spaghetti for cooking (another thing he'd leaned in Ishimura; gargoyles had big appetites), while Heinrich conscientiously cleaned up the stone shards and gravel that had been scattered in the living room. Vinnie asked curiously why he hadn't roared upon awakening, like most gargoyles he knew did, and Heinrich explained that he and his brother and sister had done that as kids, but trained themselves not to; they'd been living in cities all their lives, and knew too much noise brought nosy neighbors.

After Heinrich cleaned up all the gravel, he took the tarp itself into the bathroom for scrubbing, saying he wanted to get some of those bloodstains out before it was returned to Vinnie's cousin Phil. Vinnie almost told him not to bother, because that tarp hadn't exactly been clean when Phil had loaned it to them; there's been plenty of grease and dirt stains already. But then he figured a little cleaning wouldn't hurt, and maybe if the tarp came back in better condition than when he'd loaned it, Phil would be more amenable to other favors in the future.

Heinrich started the water running in the bathtub, and Vinnie loaned him a scrub brush from under the kitchen sink, before digging a Tupperware container full of his mom's homemade meatballs out of the freezer. Between the sound of the microwave thawing out the meatballs and the sound of Heinrich scrubbing away at that tarp in the bathroom, Vinnie didn't notice the sound of a key turning in the lock… until Leon strode in, throwing his suitcase on the couch and calling out, "Hey, Vinnie!"

Crud, Leon was home early! Vinnie ran out of the kitchen, but Leon was already striding for the bathroom, with the look of a man on a mission to relieve himself. He strode through the open bathroom door—

--And backed out even faster than he'd gone in. "Vinnie?"

Vinnie figured the best thing to do was just keep calm. "Yeah, Leon?"

Leon was also trying to keep his cool, but it wasn't working so well for him. "There's a frickin' gargoyle in the bathroom!"

"Yeah? What's he doing in there?"

"Uh… scrubbing at something in the bathtub?"

Vinnie raised his voice. "Hey, Heinrich, leave the tarp to soak and come on out; Leon needs to use the john!"

Heinrich stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel and bowing his horned head to Leon while saying, "Sorry for mess; I clean up soon."

"Uh… yeah," Leon said, his eyes wide and face pale. Heinrich stood well to one side of the bathroom door while Leon edged inside, giving the gargoyle a wide berth and staring at him the whole while. Then he shut the door—and locked it.

Heinrich stared at the closed door worriedly. "Perhaps I should go now."

"Nah, not yet," Vinnie told him. "There's no phone in there, so he's not going to be calling the cops on you or anything. Now that he knows you're here, better to stick around and show him you're all civilized, so he doesn't start thinking you're gonna sneak back in later and eat him or something."

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

It took a while to persuade Leon to come out of the bathroom, though. At first he wouldn't open the door even after Vinnie and Heinrich both reassured him that he wasn't going to get mauled or eaten or just "carried off into the night for God knows what purpose" (after the Quarrymen had stated getting air time on the local radio stations, that had become their favorite ominous accusation.) It hadn't helped that Heinrich hadn't finished scrubbing out the tarp, and Leon had noticed the bloodstains on the remaining section. He was sure that the bloodstains had come from Heinrich's latest victim instead of from Heinrich himself, until Vinnie told him to check the medicine cabinet and see for himself that the bandages had been all used up.

After Leon checked the medicine cabinet (and, being Leon, asked Vinnie through the door if he'd put bandages and rubbing alcohol on the shopping list), it still took another few minutes of reassurances before he opened the door and warily came out. Then they all sat down in the living room so Heinrich could explain just where he'd come from, why he was in New York and how he'd ended up in their living room last night.

For Leon, the turning point was when he happened to notice that the living room wastebasket was full of both used bandages and gravel. "Where'd all the gravel come from?" And after he'd been told about gargoyles shedding their stone skin, he said sardonically to Vinnie, "So that's what it takes to get you to clean up; having a gargoyle spend the night here?"

Vinnie shook his head. "Not me, man; Heinrich cleaned up after himself."

Heinrich nodded in agreement, then glanced at the bathroom door as if he'd just remembered what he'd left in there. "Excuse me, please; I finish cleaning tarp now," as he got up and went back in.

Leon stared after him, then back at Vinnie. "I'll be damned… he's more civilized than you are!" Then he got up and went into the bathroom after Heinrich, and after a few seconds Vinnie heard him advising the gargoyle about which cleaner they had on hand would work best on the grease stains as well as the bloodstains.

Vinnie just shook his head before going into the kitchen. Must be some neatnik bonding ritual or something…

Leon finally came into the kitchen and got the plates and forks for setting the table, just as Vinnie was taking the pot off the burner and pouring the cooked spaghetti into the strainer. Leon asked, "So, all those monster stories you've been telling for the last couple of years… they were real?"

"Yeah. Pass me the butter, will you?"

As Vinnie melted a hunk of butter over the noodles and stirred it in to keep them from sticking together, Leon went on, "And you really used that—that contraption in the closet to shoot a gargoyle with a cream pie? A genuine cream pie?"

Vinnie nodded and said as an aside, "Banana cream; I got it for half-price at the grocer's 'cause it was day-old and going stale."

"_**Dude**_" as Leon shook his head, then looked at him with something like awe. "You're still a wacko, but you got _**stones**_."

"Damn right! Grab the meatballs and sauce in the microwave, will you?" Vinnie said cheerfully as he brought the bowl of spaghetti to the table. "Okay, dudes, dinner's ready!"

And while they were eating, Heinrich actually got Leon to smile, though not intentionally. But when a guy, even a guy with fangs and horns, slurps up a long strand of spaghetti and it swings up and thwaps him on the nose, leaving a streak of tomato sauce… how could anyone not smile?

After dinner, they celebrated Heinrich's recovery and Leon's enlightenment with beers from the fridge. Or at least, Vinnie and Leon celebrated that way. Heinrich popped open the can of Budweiser that Vinnie had handed him, took a big swallow… then nearly spat it out, and eyed the bottle incredulously as he said "_Bier?! Bah, da könnte ich ja genauso gut Spühlwasser trinken! Da gibts keinen Unterschied_."

"What was that, dude?"

"Er…" Heinrich looked embarrassed, then said, "German beer is much different. Stronger." He wagged a talon at Vinnie as he said, "Someday, I bring you from home a case of Berliner Weiss. Or Pilsner. Now _**that**_ is beer!"

"Sounds like a deal to me," Vinnie said agreeably. Who was he to turn down free beer?

Heinrich left soon after, to resume his search for the other gargoyles still in town. As he stepped out onto the fire escape, Vinnie said, "When you meet Goliath, tell him I said hi. And if I meet any of them first--" which was pretty likely, given the way his luck had been running—"I'll tell 'em to swing by the clocktower and leave a message for you, okay?"

After thanking him once more for saving his life and promising to keep in touch, Heinrich left, gliding out into the night. Leon stared after him in awe. "Dude… we just had a gargoyle over for dinner. The guys are never gonna believe this!"

"Dude, welcome to my world," Vinnie said wryly.

Leon sat down on the couch, still staring out the window. "So weird…"

"Oh yeah, gargoyles are weird! But they're not monsters."

**00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00oo00**

"Y-you're monsters," the man accused, his face filled with both rage and horror. "I hadn't wanted to believe it, but you gargoyles are monsters!"

The figure perched above him laughed, as if he'd heard a delightful joke. "Why, of course we are! So are you willing to deal, for your son's life?" His question was accompanied by muffled weeping coming from the sack tied up and lying on the ledge next to him.

"Of course I am, for Christ's sake! But what do I have that you could possibly want? I'm just a mechanic, not a millionaire!"

"You're a mechanic _for _a millionaire—actually, a billionaire," the gargoyle reminded him. "You work on the cars in his company's motor pool. And if you ever want to see and hold your son again, here's what you're going to do…"

NOT THE END

P.S. For those who are curious as to what Heinrich was muttering in German, it translates to "Beer? Bah, I could as well drink dishwasher water! There is no difference." I'm not a drinker myself, but I know that serious beer connoisseurs and/or people used to the beers brewed in various regions of Germany just don't think much of America's most popular mass-produced beers. Though I'm told there are some microbreweries out there that produce good stuff.


End file.
